


Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

by moony_julymoonlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Slow Romance, ron is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony_julymoonlight/pseuds/moony_julymoonlight
Summary: When Kingsley refuses to provide an Auror position to Harry unless he proves he is fine by managing to hold a job which makes him happy, Harry is at a loss. Realising that he never knew what he wants from his life due to the events preceding the war, Harry goes on a personal journey to figure himself out. Harry & Hermione. Complete.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 236
Collections: flash harmony stories





	Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in this story are not mine: they belong to JK Rowling, whom I happen to not be. Title inspired by Dress by Taylor Swift.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was not a man of many words, a habit that had been instilled in him since his birth. His late mother fondly liked to recall how Kingsley did not let out a single cry when he was born - to the point where the Healer had to perform a quick cooling charm on him only to receive a little wail that was angrier at being forced to respond than the actual charm. 

Since the end of the War, Kingsley had to change that to some extent. He regularly informed his citizens of the reparations and changes being brought to the Wizarding society. In an effort to promote accountability and transparency within the Ministry, he held an audience with his citizens and listened to the concerns many were facing after the war: lost property, dead relatives, missing relatives, injuries, and disabilities being the topmost many. Establishing a task force solely to address these needs, Kingsley also regularly provided speeches to boost morale. Many would agree that while he spoke less, his words mattered.

If only they mattered to Harry Potter, he thought as he entered his office chambers with the air of a man much older than his years. He had just left a meeting where it was revealed once again that Harry Potter had tried to sneak in the latest Auror mission and had nearly succeeded before he was spotted by one of his oldest colleagues. 

Nodding to his secretary - a young man that put Longbottom’s chaotic energy to shame - who did not meet his eyes, he entered his office. Instantly, he knew his wards had been breached and he would have been an idiot if he had not guessed by who. There was only one possible suspect and his suspicions were confirmed as he met the knowing eyes of a messy-haired, bespectacled boy no older than nineteen

“Potter,” he said, staring at the Boy Who Lived who smiled brightly at him. “How did you get in here?” 

Harry shrugged, examining his nails then buffing them against the front of his robes. “Does it matter?”

“It matters. If a nineteen-year-old is able to bypass my wards then who knows who else has been traipsing around my office.” He settled down onto his desk, gesturing for Harry to take a seat. Experience had taught him that this conversation would not go well and he was not looking forward to rehashing it again. 

“I may have promised your secretary an autograph,” came the reply. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, the boy leaned forward excitedly. “I have come to ask for a position in the Auror department.” 

“You know my answer already.” Kingsley summoned the kettle and teacups that he always kept handy before floating one over to Harry who accepted it with a sniff.

“Why are you doing this?” The famous temper of the boy seemed to be lurking beneath as he slammed the cup onto the desk. “You know better than anyone that I deserve that position! You need me in there. And don’t,” Harry glared at him furiously as Kingsley opened his mouth to reply, “Don’t you dare say I don’t have the credentials. I defeated only the darkest wizard at the age of 17.” 

“Potter-”

“Please, Kingsley.” Harry’s face contorted and for a second, he looked boyish and vulnerable. It was not the first time that it jolted Kingsley that the boy was only nineteen. He’d behaved so maturely for his age that everyone would forget he had still been a child for many of the horrors that had befallen him. Kingsley no longer wanted anyone to forget that before they thought of unloading the weight of the world onto him. Harry’s shoulders slumped as he realised he had nothing that could sway Kingsley’s decision.

Kingsley sent out a silent statement to Dumbledore, cursing the man’s manipulation which was so imprinted that the boy could not even fathom living for himself. He watched Harry’s face crumble even more. “Potter,” he said gruffly. “If you can hold a job that is nothing related to the dark arts, dark wizards or any criminal activity for at least one year. If you can prove to me that you can find something else to do to spend your time - something that makes you happy and doesn’t continue to let you think you’re still at war then I may consider a position.” 

“Why is it this so important to you?” Harry slumped against his chair and inclined his chin. “Why can’t I just begin working? You know I will be good here - for the department. I helped round off the Death Eaters after the war! You called me an honorary Auror then. What changed?”

“It is not your competency that I doubt, Potter.” 

“What is it then?” Harry crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched. “Why are you so opposed to me here?”

Kingsley steeled his fingers together and regarded the boy. “How many years has it been since the war?”

“Almost three,” said Harry instantly. 

“In that period, how much time have you spent on yourself and not on the wizarding world which does not need you to save it anymore?” At that, Harry visibly flinched. Nodding, Kingsley continued. “I have enough of an Auror team to counter any threat that may emerge. I do not have another you if you continue to endanger your health and life like this.” 

“Like what?”

“Like still thinking we are at war and prepared to throw away your life to win it,” Kingsley said softly. He was sure the war and the events and years preceding it had left its toll on Harry and let him cling on to the idea that he needed to be fighting against evil all the time. Granted even he still struggled to come into work and not get drawn into the flashbacks of the battle and he was not even the young boy in the thick of it. Not long after the war, Kingsley had considered letting Harry join him but once the boy had gone through the routine medical tests, he had changed his mind. Harry’s stress, anxiety and insomnia levels were so high - they were almost dangerous. He couldn’t have him on his team, it would be sending the boy into a non-recoverable damage zone. If it already hadn’t reached that stage. 

After a serious discussion with McGonagall, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Andromeda and several others, Kingsley had been convinced that they needed to help him, not enable him. One of the ways to do that was to encourage Harry to pursue other avenues and not his self-imposed role as a dark-wizard fighter as his only purpose in life. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry’s voice was broken as he stared dejectedly at his hands. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Kingsley lifted a shoulder. “I am sure you can figure it out.” 

Seeing a lost case, Harry got to his feet and shuffled to the door. He paused before turning around, his hand on the doorknob. “One year?” he said hopefully. 

Kingsley regarded him for a few seconds, he was almost certain that Potter would be back within a week. “Conditionally.” 

Harry was nearly outside when Kingsley called out, “And no more bribing my secretaries with your fame otherwise it is never.”

* * *

Later that night, Harry waved his spoon at his two best friends as they dug into the dinner that Ron had prepared. Since they’d been living together, Ron had become quite the cook - not unlike Molly actually. “I am supposed to do something else. Can you believe it?”

Harry was not sure whose idea it was or whether it was just something that seemed the natural step, but both of them had moved in with him to 12 Grimmauld Place. He couldn’t say he minded really. With Ron, it was almost like they were still in the dormitories at Hogwarts. They usually stayed up late and watched films - Ron was incredibly fascinated when they’d found a small television and several tapes in Sirius’ old room. It took Ron several days to learn that the on-screen people could not hear him and so he refrained to shouting at them only when they did something foolish. Harry couldn’t help but be grateful for his presence. Even though almost everything had changed, he knew he could still rely on Ron for a lot more than the film marathons. 

“Bloody hell, Harry. If you can’t be an Auror, who can?” Ron’s Auror application had also been rejected as many times as Harry’s but unlike him, he had given up and spent his time at the joke shop.

“You both are being ridiculous,” snapped Hermione as she looked up from the thick textbook she was reading. Hermione had chosen to return to finish her seventh year at Hogwarts and had spent the next year locating her parents. She’d found them, they had spent the remainder of the year in Australia together. She’d moved in only a month ago. Harry was not sure whether her parents had come back with her. 

Her presence was also an extremely rare occasion as she spent most of her time at her legal job in the Ministry. Ron and Harry only caught sight of her as she was leaving, having no idea when she’d returned the night before. “Harry, you do need to do something else,” she said, addressing him before turning to Ron. “And you! You need to encourage your best friend to find other things instead of leading him on to stick with being an Auror. Help him not enable him. ”

Rolling his eyes, Ron shoved a spoonful of lasagna in her mouth which was already open - perhaps for more expression of indignation on their behaviour. “You need to eat,” he said as she made a sound of protest, her mouth too full to say anything. “In fact, you both do.”

Before Ron made the same move on him, Harry hastily took another bite of his meal. “I just don’t know what to do,” he said listlessly, causing Ron and Hermione to stop bickering. It was true that Harry still struggled every day. Whenever he was out in public, he’d walk with his wand gripped tightly as he scanned his surroundings. He still regularly paced the halls of Grimmauld Place when he woke up from nightmares. He also found himself checking in on Ron multiple times a night, convinced he had left. Ron did not treat him any differently, only nodded in understanding as he returned from his job - his face haunted as he looked at the exact same brother he’d lost but it was not him. 

There was a moment’s silence before Ron spoke, “A dragon slayer then.”

Besides him, Hermione groaned loudly as Harry pretended to consider it.

“You do realise I never slayed any dragons?” Harry demanded, staring between the two. “Besides, it needs to be a stress-free job.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No need to sound so gloomy about it, Harry. It would be good for you.” Squaring her shoulders and picking up her textbook, she declared: “We will help you.” 

“Merlin, yes. I am sure arguing in front of the entire Wizengamot for _spew_ will be so good and stress-free for him,” said Ron nonchalantly. 

Hermione glared at him before sending over her half-eaten meal to the sink. She got to her feet, her textbook in hand and her nose in the air. “I am not arguing for _spew_ , I am arguing for a bill that works for the betterment and welfare of all magical creatures who have been brainwashed and enslaved by wizards to work for them without wanting for anything except not to be beaten.” 

“Oh, c’mon. I was just trying to lighten the mood.” 

She let out a deep breath before turning her gaze upon Harry. “We’ll help you.” With that, she had strutted away, her bushy hair flouncing behind her. The door had barely swung shut behind her before Ron turned to Harry. “You don’t think she’s still mad at me, do you?”

“It did seem like she was annoyed when you said that about _spew_ -”

Ron waved a hand impatiently, a piece of cheese dangling from his mouth. “No, about the break-up.”

Harry had honestly not thought of it - save for the awkward few moments when Hermione had moved in, the two seemed to have settled into their usual role of bickering far too easily than expected. “Why would she be mad? It was both of your decision.”

Ron hesitated and lowered his voice. “But you know these witches, they say one thing and want the other. George reckons maybe that’s why she seems irritable.”

Harry nodded slowly. “ Sure, I mean, I guess she has that job at the Ministry plus we don’t really know what is going on with her parents, but yes, she could be irritable because of what you said.” Harry’s voice trailed off. They both looked at each other guiltily; their spoons paused in mid-air. 

“You’ll stop by her workplace this week and then me?” Harry offered quickly. Ron nodded, relieved. 

* * *

  
The next morning, Harry was sitting in the kitchen again, an untouched plate of breakfast and the morning copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him. GINNY WEASLEY LEADS THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES TO VICTORY screamed the headline, accompanied with a photo of Ginny as she expertly threw the quaffle into the opponent’s goal post. Her hair was cut shorter now, he noted. 

“Still pining?” inquired a soft voice as Harry jumped, nearly toppling the table over. Hermione was standing at the door, her arms crossed as she nodded at the newspaper.  
  
“Of course not. As you can clearly see, I am brooding.” 

Hermione pressed her lips in a thin line before settling into the chair beside him. “It was never a good look on you,” she informed him, not unkindly. 

Harry barked a low sound of laughter. 

“Oh, he laughs. Quick, someone alert the Prophet!” 

“Sod off,” he said, unable to prevent a smile on his face. He’d never realised how much he relied on Hermione’s matter-of-fact candour until she had been away. Often, he had turned to speak to her or catch her eye when something amusing had happened before remembering that she was in Australia. “What are you still doing here?”

Harry did not even see her on weekends and it was ten-past nine on a weekday, she was usually already at work at this time. Recalling his conversation with Ron over dinner, he tried to examine her for any signs of stress. Did she seem stressed? He could not detect any signs of pale shadows under her eyes or any visible hollowness.

“I took the day off,” she said quietly. 

Harry gaped. “I’ve never seen you take a day off.”

“I had some errands to run,” she said steadily. “Besides, we can get a headstart on our plan for you.”

“Today?”

“Did you need to check your calendar for your availability?” She sounded irritated, much like the time when OWLs were near and even the sound of someone breathing near her drove her bonkers. 

“No, no. I am free.” 

She nodded once. “Good, let’s get going. Where’s Ron?” 

“Investor conference in Ireland,” said Harry absent-mindedly as he gazed at Hermione. While she was not showing symptoms of stress, there was something odd about her…Had she cut her hair? No, it was just as unruly and long as ever. It was no new outfit as far as Harry could tell. What could it be? 

“That is too bad,” she replied with a smile that did not match her words. “Let’s go. We’re going to figure out what you’ll be doing for the next year.” 

A few hours later, Harry realised that it was easier said than done. They had spent the entire morning, going from shop to shop in Diagon Alley as Harry had tried to envision himself working there. He even tested it out by helping customers find pets, books and in one shop, supplies for Hogwarts. He’d grown restless within seconds as his celebrity attracted larger crowds than usual and everyone jostled in line, jockeying for position to proclaim that yes, Harry Potter helped their child pick out their school supplies. The store owners did not mind, stepping aside for whatever it was that the Chosen One required. 

“He wants to steal your job,” Hermione said, exasperated. “Honestly, will no one say no to you?”

“It was your plan,” he shrugged. He did feel a little exposed and uncomfortable with the number of people watching him eagerly.

“I thought it would be much more difficult.”

Harry was just about to call off their plan when he noticed a witch watching him. He was much shorter than him. She was beautiful and willowy; her hair was piled into a bun high atop her head. When she noticed him noticing her, her lips quirked into a smile, and she sashayed over. Harry pretended he was immersed in working so he would not have to talk to her. 

“Can you help me?” A breathy voice whispered in his ear. “I think I need your help.”

“Nosorryleaving,” Harry muttered so fast that she looked confused. She stepped closer, Harry’s heart racing as she invaded his space. Honestly, where had Hermione got to? “Sorry, I lost my friend, I should look for her.”

She latched onto his arm. “I can help,” she said earnestly. Harry tried to shake off her hold but her grip was impressive. He was sure he was losing feeling in it. 

Hermione suddenly appeared behind him as he whirled around to escape the witch, her arms were laden with a package of books while another tote bag was crossed over her head. “Harry! Betty, let go.” 

The witch called Betty reluctantly let him go before glowering at Hermione. “Betty? You know her?”

“She’s an apparition that haunts this shop. She used to be a Veela so she still uses her charm,” Hermione explained, amused. “Did you really try to run away?”

“Of course not,” Harry said at the same time that Betty said, “Yes, he did.” 

Leading him out of the shop where a crowd had gathered to catch sight of them, Hermione laughed loudly. “Oh, Harry. Why did your enemies not think of polyjuicing themselves into women? You would have never stood up to him then.”

“Oh, har har. You are so funny, I almost forgot to laugh.” He tried to smile and brush past the sudden influx of people around them. Wizards, witches, screaming children and even house elves that tried to wrap their hands around him. He nodded at them, gesturing that he needed to pass, but they did not seem to be paying any attention. Harry’s heart was pounding. Anyone can be here, masked, lying in wait, he thought as he tried to find a way out. A hand clamped on him, and he was jerked into the uncomfortable sensation of apparating. 

He’d barely landed on his feet before he pushed the assailant against the wall, his wand aimed at the chin. Hermione glared at him before pointedly looking at the books he’d made her drop. 

“Where are we?” he asked, looking around suspiciously. She pushed him off her, summoning her packages of books which she transfigured into cubes before gently placing them in her bag. 

“Muggle London,” she said vaguely, looking over his shoulder at a dining place. Blue’s, the signboard boasted. “Do you want to have lunch?” 

Barely hearing his response, she had ushered them in where they were greeted by a man dressed so primly, Harry felt vulgar in his jeans and hood. The man’s eyes sparkled with recognition at the sight of Hermione and he hurried them into an alcove which overlooked a garden. 

Before Harry could say anything, Hermione spoke up abruptly. “I’m sorry about earlier. There were too many crowds and then I grabbed you to apparate. I know you don’t like either.”

He appreciated the apology but disliked the way Hermione was suddenly exhibiting her guilt as she fidgeted and avoided his eyes. It was not her fault that he could not be out in public without a crowd and his suspicions which drove him into near panic. He could learn to live with it all instead of trying to control things that he couldn’t. It is the reason why he was convinced that going on proper Auror missions may help him alleviate his paranoia. It was a pity Kingsley did not think the same. “Unfortunately, my dislike of things occurring to me has never stopped them from happening.”

“You cannot just deflect everything with humour. You’ve been doing that a lot since the war.”

Harry should have known better, her brain was always analyzing which allowed her to perceive things much clearer than others around her. “Are you mocking me for my coping mechanisms?” 

“I don’t know why Kingsley thought it was a good idea to send you to a muggle therapist when you couldn't even tell him anything about your life.” She rolled her eyes, glancing at her hands before looking up at him. “Still,” she said quietly. “For what it is worth, I am sorry and I’ll be more mindful of where I take us tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he echoed. “Don’t you have work?”

“I’ve taken a few days off. I have that big case coming up and you know I like to spend my time alone beforehand, preparing and practising my arguments.” A waiter came upon them, asking if Hermione would like her usual. She nodded and Harry asked for the same. He waited till he’d departed before saying, “Do you come here a lot?”

“Ever since I was a little girl.” She paused. “With my parents.” 

“Is everything OK?” Harry flushed as she smiled wryly at that. Was anything really OK since the war? “I mean, you spent so much time looking for your parents and you barely mention them now. Are they alright?” 

Hermione remained silent for a long time. He observed the multitude of thoughts that flashed across her face. While Hermione was excellent at reading through texts and books, he felt he could almost read through her as if she was one. Perhaps it was a testament for how long he had known her, he thought. He could hear her brain whirring with activity as she regarded him with a hesitant expression. Probably debating whether to tell him. 

Their food arrived. Some sort of pasta, Harry nearly inhaled his. He didn’t realise how much he craved food until he actually got out of the house and used his energy for something. 

“My parents feel betrayed.” She was staring at her untouched plate, her voice slightly shaky.“They...they are upset that I placed that charm on them. They feel that I should have given them the choice instead of taking it away from them.” She choked on the last word, gulping down one of the glasses of wine that the waiter had kindly placed on their table. 

That was the different thing he couldn’t place about her: she was keeping something from him. Even now Harry could see her face twist in a grimace as she avoided meeting his eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“It is not your fault. You did not have a choice-”

“Didn’t I?” Harry was struck by the sudden conviction in her voice as she leaned forward, her hair falling into her face. “I chose to do it. I cast the spell. Nobody forced me...I chose to take everything away from them.”

“Circumstances forced you,” he said gently as she squeezed her eyes shut, a hand over them. “You had good intentions. You wanted to make sure nobody ever finds them and uses them to get to you. And use you to get to me. And,” he found the next sentence extremely difficult to say but went on, “if you had d-died they wouldn’t have been able to live with the pain of that. You spared them from that.”

Her lips pressed in a thin line as she nodded once, wincing. “I don’t think they will ever trust me again.”

“It’s a fresh injury right now. They’ll come around once things settle down.” 

She finally removed her hand from her eyes, he could see tears as she blinked them away. “I feel so old sometimes.”

“I suspect your hair will be greying soon,” he agreed sagely before meeting her gaze. He’d never noticed how wide they were. “Sometimes, I can’t believe I’m only nineteen, I mean, I feel I should be given some extra years just for living the past four years.” 

She snorted. “I should be given several just for keeping you and Ron alive.”

“We survived,” he said suddenly. It was a thought that occurred to him frequently when he’d remember the worries that plagued him before. Discovering the horcruxes, hunting them, escaping Malfoy Manor. The Battle. Against all odds, they had lived through all of that. Anyone would find themselves feeling too old after the ordeal they were put through. 

Hermione’s eyes were shining with the same thoughts running through his head. “We did.”

* * *

  
Hermione was panting as she doused the flames around her. “What part of “low flame setting” was too difficult to understand?”

Harry crossed his arms. “I lost focus.” He had decided to change his tactics after the fiascos with the shops; he’d call ahead and ask permission from the owners to spend a week working with them. He’d immediately request to work in the background, it had the most minimal interactions and consequently, no one even knew he was there. But as he began his fourth day at the Cuco’s - an emerging fusion restaurant in the wizarding world, Harry had been forced to remember why he had disliked potions. Cooking was just like that - precision, measurements, focus and intuition. While Harry prided himself on his intuition, he was cognizant of how faulty it was when he gave in to the urge and had dumped an entire cup of fairy wings and salt into the simmering pot. Then cast the wrong flame setting. 

It was also unfortunate that Hermione had happened to arrive early to pick him up too. She’d gone back to her usual routine of slaving away at the Ministry - her case date had extended and while Hermione calmly reassured them that she was fine with it, Harry could hear her pacing and muttering her opening arguments all night. 

Sighing, Harry waved his wand, quickly setting the kitchen back to the pristine condition they had found it in. While the owner had been initially delighted to have the Chosen One in his kitchen, his lips had gotten smaller and smaller until they’d almost disappeared when the flames had surrounded them. “That went well.” 

They exited the kitchen slowly, Harry hastily scrawling his signature on parchment for the owner who was not too pleased to have his livelihood burn down but perhaps an autograph from the person who nearly burned it down would help shape things in a better perspective. “I guess becoming a cook is in the bin.” 

“We’ll find something,” Hermione promised. “We just need to figure out…” Her voice trailed off, her expression suddenly glazed. An idea had just occurred to her and she turned to him, nearly stepping on his toes. “What is the one profession you wanted to be in as soon as you got to know of the wizarding world?”

“Er.” Harry wracked his head, trying to remember his thoughts as a scrawny eleven-year-old boy. “A Quidditch player.”

She frowned. They both knew being a professional quidditch player when he’d been an inactive player ever since his sixth year would be too difficult. “I guess you can still try.”

“I haven’t played a proper match in years. At most, it is me and Ron mucking about when he’s home from work.”

They apparated home, still debating as they found Ron slowly icing a cake that was nearly twelve inches big. “It won’t hurt to try, Harry,” she said, sounding similar to the times when she’d ask him to do his homework and study. “You always were an exceptional player. A few practice sessions and you can go right back at it.” She smiled at Ron. “Wow, Ron! What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know. It will be too much exposure to crowds. I am not sure if I can stand more fame.” Harry sprawled on one of the chairs, ducking his head when Ron glared at him for nearly upending the cake. Ron sniffed once before admiring his handiwork. 

“I just felt like baking,” he said simply, waving his wand so that plates and spoons were set on the table. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows as she spooned it into her mouth, extracting a thick file from her bag. “Oh! This is excellent, Ron!” At Ron’s raised eyebrows at her choice of reading material, she patiently said, “This case needs to go along perfectly. If all goes well, we are looking at serious reformation in the pro-pureblood laws.”

Ron nodded, looking intently as Harry took his first bite. It was really good, the chocolate melted in his mouth. “What chocolate have you used? I haven’t t-”  
“Chocolate? But it tastes like vanilla and strawberry,” said Hermione, spooning another bite into her mouth. 

Ron’s ears went pink, head ducking. “I’ve charmed the cake to taste similar to your favourite dessert.” At their stunned silence, he looked defensive. “It is nothing, I was just bored.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other subtly, he could see the same concern reflected in her eyes. “You’ve become so adept in the kitchen. If only we knew this talent while we were on the run,” said Harry conservationally as he dug in. 

Ron snorted but grinned slightly. “Oh yes. Baking gourmet cakes while we run from snatchers is one thing we didn’t get to do.” Clearing his throat, Ron looked nervously between the two of them. Harry braced himself, it was a big cake...perhaps, an upcoming wedding? But Ron hadn’t been dating anyone. Unless it was not Ron’s. Maybe Percy. Or Ginny. “I am entering a baking competition.”

“What?” Hermione’s spoon clattered onto her plate, her file lay forgotten in her lap. She impatiently stuffed it back in her bag. “Ron, this is really good. The charm on the cake is just ingenious.”

Ron’s entire face matched the colour of his hair as he muttered, “Yeah, it’s going to be in a week’s time. All funds will go towards rebuilding society, of course.” 

“I’d wager you have a good chance of winning,” said Harry as he polished off his plate. 

“Thanks, mate. You two are the first people to taste something I made so…” he trailed off. “I mean, I am not going in with high hopes.” 

“You should,” said Hermione seriously, spying a set of discarded tapes on the counter as Ron tried to swipe them but was unsuccessful. “Oh, I watched this when I was a young girl.” She looked at the two of them with amusement. “Do you both always watch romantic comedies whenever you’re watching films?” 

“How was work?” asked Ron loudly. 

“I set fire to the kitchen.”

“Wicked. You’re never allowed to cook in mine,” he said gravely. 

* * *

  
The next two weeks remained unsuccessful as the shops and the kitchen. While some of the jobs were interesting, Harry felt they did not inspire the same level of passion and dedication he’d have if he were an Auror. They also did not hold his attention or made him want to commit the way Hermione was with hers. Her case had delayed again and she was suddenly pressured into working more as she tried to “perfect her arguments.” Harry had not seen her in days - in fact, if it weren’t for the discarded dishes and the bushy hair he’d find in the drain in the only bathroom which had a shower stall, Harry would have started to suspect she had begun living in her office. 

Harry was currently at Gringotts where he’d applied to be an auditor to examine suspicious activities within the vaults of the many Wizarding families. Including ones with a dark past such as supporting a certain Dark Lord...He’d barely received an introduction to the process when the goblin jerked his head at him, “You have not finished the seventh year.” It was not a question. 

“Yes but-”

“We require seventh-year completion.” He peered at the documents in front of him. “Your OWLs are not completely up to the mark either.”

“I suppose when a dark wizard is chasing you your entire life, you’d let things like grades slip aside.” The goblin did not appear amused, Harry sighed. “I understand your hesitance but I think I could do well here. I learn quickly.” 

“While others may deem it fit to ignore due processes when it comes to you, Mr Potter,” said the goblin with a glower. “We are not at liberty to. Besides, we have not forgotten the last time you were here.” 

With that, Harry knew he was dismissed. He exited the bank, his hands gripping his hair. The only job he felt like doing and he couldn’t. Was Kingsley looking to drive him mad? He couldn’t even find a job let alone hold one. Glancing at his battered watch, Harry realised he was late and hurried into one of the fancy witches’ designer shops in Diagon Alley. 

He’d barely entered when he stumbled into a young woman with hair so huge, it was only a miracle he did not suffocate. Harry was not surprised to see the scene before him. 

Hermione was standing with her back to him, her hands on her hips in an intimidating pose that would make Mrs Weasley proud. “I am horrified to learn that you are willing to gain a tremendous amount of profit from your overpriced dress robes while not even paying your employees - the ones who make the dresses - minimum wage! It is exploitation! It is corporate slavery!”

The wizard in question was pale with the accusations. Catching sight of Harry once Hermione had tossed her hair aside, he seemed to grow paler. “It’s just how it’s been.”

“You’re right,” Hermione thundered and the man winced. “It’s this system. I am going to change it, you know. Equal pay with benefits for magical beings is just one of the things that I will appeal for with my case to the Wizengamot. You just wait for it.” With that, she whirled around, nearly knocking into Harry. “What are you doing here?”

“You asked to meet you here.” Harry rubbed his nose ruefully while Hermione tutted, impatiently flicking her hair behind her ears. “Never mind, we are going home.”

With that, she reached across to grab him and they apparated into 12 Grimmauld Place. The trophy Ron had won for his cake was still proudly displayed at the shelf. 

“Was it really appropriate to yell at the poor man like that?” Harry headed over to the sofa Ron was lounging on, kicking his feet aside as he sat. Ron, with the air of great dignity, placed his feet on Harry’s lap. 

“Poor man? He’s bathing in galleons.” Hermione was pacing as she scowled at him. “It’s the hags he hired who are poor. Not even allowed a day’s leave, cannot exit for the day until they produce a certain amount of dresses and don’t even get me started on how they cannot even afford the very products they’ve made!”

“OK,” said Harry and Ron. 

“I mean, the injustice,” spat Hermione as she paced the living room. Her hair seemed to be growing even more unruly and frizzy as she paced. Her face was suddenly small and pinched, dark shadows visible under her eyes. “This is exactly like the mindset I am hoping to change!” She buried her face in her hands. “And they keep changing my case date.”

“Well, it’s not a surprise is it?” Ron hastily went on when Hermione turned to glare at him, her hair so bushy, several nests could be growing into it. “I mean, just think. The Wizengamot is full of the very people who are happy with the laws you are trying to protest. They will try to delay it as much as possible until they are pressured to listen to you.” 

Hermione stilled, her foot in mid-air as she considered the two of them. “Of course,” she breathed. “Ron, you are a genius! Harry, come on.”

“Me? What do I have to do with this?” 

“Everything.” Hermione nodded. “You are going to help me pressure the Wizengamot to listen to me.”

“OK - how?” She faltered, looking uncertain before she said crisply, “I haven’t thought of that yet but I am sure we will figure it out.” She resumed her pacing, muttering, “revolutions, unions, oppressive system.” 

“I don’t think she has slept in a week. Do you think if we don’t intervene she’ll tire herself out and collapse?” Ron said quietly as they observed Hermione still, shake her head, then resume her pacing. A hole would be dug on the floor soon. 

“No,” he responded grimly. “I’ll get her to bed.” 

“Your funeral,” Ron whispered mockingly as Hermione stilled yet again, her eyes glazed. Harry got to his feet, placed a hand on her elbow and gently tugged her in the direction of the hallway where her bedroom was located. 

“Where are we going?” she snapped, immediately but Harry was waiting for that. 

“I needed your help.” Instantly, she became silent and obedient followed him as Harry knew she would. With a pang, he realised that Hermione always wanted to help others and put them first. Maybe even at the cost of her own. 

He gently pulled her into her room, the bed looking unslept in for ages. “What do you need help with here?” She looked confused, her face appearing lost in the excessive curls of her hair. 

“I need you to help yourself for once and sleep.”

She huffed, wringing her hands. “I cannot sleep, I have so much to do! I need to get the Wizengamot to listen to my case. So many lives are depending on it! I need to go over my arguments, I need to-” She stopped talking when Harry pulled her in an embrace, he could feel tension and knots all over her neck and shoulders. 

“What you need to do is sleep,” he said patiently. “Your pallor looks sick. You are obsessing and fixating on things you don’t have control over and,” Harry raised his voice as she opened her mouth, “the case which you do have control over is as tight-knit as it could be. You don’t need to carry so much excess weight on you, you’ll crumble. You need to wait for the day it will happen. It will happen. You’re not dealing with Fudge anymore or a corrupt Ministry. It is Kingsley. You can owl him later but what you need right now is sleep.” 

She did not protest as he placed her on the bed. Taking out his wand and gripping her hand, Harry sent low vibrations down her arm for the knots he’d felt earlier. 

“How are your parents?” 

“They’re fine, they don’t want anything to do with me,” she said automatically. 

Harry sat beside her. “Are you throwing yourself into work to avoid that?”

She did not respond, instead lightly smacking his arm. “Kingsley should have never sent you to that muggle therapist.”

“You’re the one who said friends should help you rather than enable you,” he countered, lightly placing his hands on the junction between her neck and back. Flexing his fingers slightly, he rubbed the knots he detected, feeling the tension begin to leave her. 

“I did say that.” She groaned lightly as his hands rubbed a particularly wound-up knot. “I was always smart.”

“You were,” he agreed. “Except for times like these.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

Harry noticed that her breathing had changed, it was deeper. His pathetic attempt at a massage must be helping in some way. “Maybe you need to learn how to relax too. A relaxing and stress-free job.”

“How is that going?” She let out another groan, the sound of it made Harry pause, hovering near her neck before he slowly pressed his hands against her skin again. 

“We are not talking about me right now. We are discussing you.”

“I am fine,” she inclined her chin stubbornly, letting out a small gasp as he kneaded her arms. The sound made his breath hitch, his heart racing suddenly. He did not know why but he wanted her to make that sound again. He wondered what she’d do is his hands found other places to touch. Would the noises be louder? His throat suddenly felt dry as he imagined placing his hands on her trim waist, her breasts, her bare skin and she’d moan...

“You don’t sleep, you barely eat. Is it the job? Or your parents?” He could only hope she did not hear the strange huskiness in his tone. 

She picked at a loose thread she found in her robes. “The latter.”

“I think you should give it some time or you all go for group therapy,” he suggested. 

“I suppose,” Hermione’s expression was hesitant but she was relaxing, leaning heavily into his hands as he worked on her back. When he brushed a particular spot and Hermione let out a moan and he released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, they both froze. 

“I feel tired, I should sleep,” she said hastily. Without a word, she had placed her head on the pillow beside them, her body curled underneath a blanket. 

Harry nodded rapidly, his face flushed. “I better go check on Ron. Sleep well.”

“You too,” she called then groaned into her pillow as Harry departed. Sleep well? In the middle of the afternoon? She wasn’t so smart after all, she thought as her eyes fluttered close. 

* * *

“This is it,” muttered Ron as Harry nodded. It had been three weeks later that Hermione’s case was finally scheduled and he and Ron were both present, in one of the largest turnouts of the crowds, to support her. Hermione was barely aware in the morning, her head buried in her thick file as she muttered under her breath while Harry exasperatedly waved his wand to fix her robe collar and charmed her meal to break into little bites and nudge her until she ate it. 

He was not sure why the sight of Hermione speaking in front of the entire court was making his heart speed up and his body to be overcome by nerves. It was as if it was him addressing the room instead of Hermione. He wondered how Hermione was dealing with it if it was affecting him, an observer like this. As soon as he thought that, he brushed it away. Hermione was nothing except cool-headed. 

The entire room grew silent as Hermione finished her arguments, her hands clasped loosely as she cooly regarded the council of Wizengamot. It was not until Harry caught the sight of her right hand trembling slightly that he realised she was nervous. She suddenly looked his way, their eyes met and something passed between them of which neither was aware. 

He swallowed inaudibly as he glanced at the Wizengamot. Their faces were completely impassive and masked as they flipped over the files Hermione had handed in beforehand. 

“Are you alright? You’re shaking,” Ron whispered. Harry hadn’t realised he was and he crossed his arms. 

“Just nervous, you know. I don’t know what will happen to her if-” He broke off as the lead of the Wizengamot adjusted her glasses before addressing Hermione who looked like she had stopped breathing. 

“Based on the astounding evidence and case studies submitted by Ms Hermione Jean Granger, the Wizengamot is compelled,” the woman paused and Harry nearly wanted to shout at her to get on with it, “to approve and pass the bill.” Harry let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, Ron hissed with victory while Hermione looked faint as her team behind her beamed, shaking hands. 

It was not until later when the reporters were throwing questions at Hermione who was confidently answering them, that she caught sight of them. “Excuse me,” she squeaked and hurried over, throwing her arms around Harry first. 

“You did it,” he said in her ear and her body shook, half-laughter and half-tears.  
  
“Get in here, Ron,” she said and squeezed them both until they were gasping. “Film night?” 

They nodded and left her to it as she turned back to the awaiting crowd who crowed questions and statements alike. Harry was not surprised that she handled them aptly. Whenever a comment seemed to shift focus from the case to her personal life, she deftly guided them back with a single eyebrow raise and quip. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look flushed,” commented Ron as Harry gazed at Hermione, her hands clasped behind her back. 

“Yes, I am fine.”

* * *

Two weeks later, there seemed to be a load off Hermione’s shoulders as she helped Ron with charming his desserts before they would be devoured. Ron was considering joining Cuco’s - he’d even gone in for an interview. Apparently, the man had recognised him as Harry’s best friend and was not so keen on giving him a chance but had been convinced by his desserts. 

“I mean, the nerve,” said Harry. “You nearly set fire to someone’s kitchen once and they hold a grudge. Doesn’t seem like a healthy working environment there, Ron.”

“How about a Hogwarts professor?” Ron scrunched up his nose, envisioning Harry as a professor before nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, you displayed a bit of that during the DA.” Ron and Hermione were still discussing career options while Harry had firmly given up for the moment. 

The latest fiasco was at the library in Diagon Alley. It was quaint and charming, Harry had nothing to do but to sort out the titles, ensure the charmed books behaved and people returned the books on time. He had nearly been there a week and had felt hopeful before the entire team of Aurors and ministry officials had to be called in to extract him from a gaping hole that had opened up - which was his fault in a little way. 

Unfortunately, he’d dropped a book outside of its shield and it had quickly unbolted a hole which seemed innocuous at first but was actually a mass of such concentrated magic that it could compel and attract any individual to fall in it and die. The source of the magic was their magic. Luckily, Harry had not fallen in out of choice - he’d merely tripped over the book and had latched onto it while alarms wailed around him and the magic tried to pull him in deeper. 

Harry had wished he spent more of his time working out when his arm seemed to be falling asleep while he’d tried desperately to hold on. However, his body and mind, both did not consider this to be such a threat compared to the previous attempts at his life and had remained complacent while he dangled. 

“It was an accident,” he’d retorted to Kingsley who had been furious. “I was doing a normal job as you said! How am I supposed to know that book was stolen out of the department of mysteries? Honestly, Kingsley, you’re behaving like I had something to do with it.” He paused. “But this does seem like the occasion to reconsider the Auror job.” He apparated as soon as he saw the look on the other man's face. 

“A Hogwarts professor that did not complete his own Hogwarts education. I’m sure that will go over so well,” he muttered. “I just want...” He faltered, closing his eyes. He did not know what he wanted. He was not even sure if he should want something. The only reason he had to do this was to stick it to Kingsley so he could have an Auror job. 

He felt a deep ache done to the very depths of his bones. Despite the fact that the last two months had been spent trying to find and keep a job for the Auror position, Harry couldn’t deny that it was the most relaxed he’d felt in years. Maybe even forever. He didn’t know what would happen if he took on an Auror job and the shadows he’d tried too hard to escape would stain his life again. He’d already defeated one dark wizard - possibly the most menacing and threatening one ever. He didn't need to do more, did he?

“You’ll figure it out,” said Hermione gently, brushing his fringe with her hand and giving up as it remained untameable. “I am off to dinner with my parents.” She headed towards the doorway and paused, looking over her shoulder. “It may become a weekly occurrence. You should come with.”

Ron snorted once she was gone. “Will you go?”

“The invitation was for both of us, why should I go alone?”

Ron quirked an eyebrow as he added a drop of a murky green potion onto each plate of his dessert, waving his wand over it with a murmured spell. The cakes sparked once, he nodded, satisfied. “So when will you tell her?”

Harry was gazing at his hands, trying to think of what to do about his life. “Tell her what?”

“That you fancy her.”

“What? Ron, that’s ridiculous.” He gazed at his friend who was rolling his eyes. “It is! I don’t fancy her.”

“Really? Then why are you always looking at her like this.” He mimicked an exaggerated expression of longing: his eyes wide, his brows furrowed in agony and his tongue lolling out. 

Harry’s ego felt bruised. “I do not look at her like that.”

“AHA, so you do admit you look,” he shouted, pointing his wand at Harry. Instantly, a hole the size of a fist appeared in his robes and Harry glared.

“I look at you too.”

Ron made the same ridiculous facial expression. “If you looked at me like this, I’d beg to be sentenced to Azkaban.” He continued chortling while Harry glowered at him. “Anyways, speaking from experience, tell her before she becomes enamoured by another famous seeker.”

“Krum?” demanded Harry, despite himself. “He’s still in the picture?”

Ron just raised his eyebrows. “Merlin, no wonder she finds both of us incredibly thick. You are famous and a seeker too. Or were.” 

Harry tried to interpret this new information, he was unsure why Ron was suddenly behaving so cryptically. Was he possessed by Lovegood? “Are you saying she fancies me too?”

Ron looked gleeful as he magicked one of the dessert plates in front of Harry. “I am not saying anything. Although, you just said a lot when you said the word “too” implying that you do fancy her.” 

Harry groaned. “Fine, I guess I do.” 

“Acceptance is the first stage.” Ron scratched at the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. 

“What is the next stage?”

Ron shrugged, muttering, “Hell, if I know. But don’t make fun of her, bicker with her and treat her like I did for seven years.”

“Such great advice,” snapped Harry. “No wonder you are a ladies’ man.” 

“One can only have ambition,” said Ron sagely as he shoved a spoon in his mouth. “Now, eat.”

* * *

  
Harry was unsure of how it happened. He was strolling along muggle London in December, trying to find presents for his friends - one whom he was sure he fancied and one who was also sure he fancied the first one so it clearly needed a lot of thought and effort. However, he bumped into a wall of nothing and frowned as a small girl with wide eyes and long hair suddenly materialized in front of him. 

“Are you a wizard?” she whispered, glancing around the oblivious muggles that continued their shopping. “Can you do magic for me?”

“Uh, where are your parents?”

The girl shrugged, tugging at her ponytail. “Around. Are you a wizard? Can you do magic for me?”

“Look, I don’t know-” His voice cut off as the girl kicked his shin and he hopped onto one leg. 

“Hey, that hurt!”

“Don’t say I don’t know what I am talking about,” she said, a steely determination in her voice. “I know what I am talking about. You just saw me appear out of thin air and didn’t call me crazy. So you are a wizard. You know magic.”

Harry wondered whether this is how he would go: death at the hands of a child who did not appear to be more than ten and half his height and weight. “Who are you?”

“Rose Flowers,” the girl said, primly. 

Harry stared at her, snorting. “Really, couldn’t come up with a better fake name?”

Rose shrugged once. “I want you to help me,” she suddenly said, unsure. “I know I’m different. I can do things and everyone notices it and gets scared. I think I do _magic_.” The last word was said in a hush as a look of wonder came over her. Harry knew that expression all too well. 

“Show me what you can do,” Harry sighed. Rose promptly vanished before appearing behind him. Harry couldn’t help but be impressed. She was employing some sort of disillusion charm which was tricky to accomplish even at an older age. 

“Polly hit me once and she flew across the room. Everyone calls me crazy.” 

Harry remembered his accidental cases of magic before he’d discovered he was a wizard. They were very confusing and isolating incidents, especially due to the fact that he’d lived with muggles. He was lucky he was not actually committed to some mental asylum. “Right,” Harry kneeled down so he was eye to eye with the girl. “I cannot say much but-”

Rose suddenly looked scared, her solemn eyes nearly tearing. “I did something bad once.”

Alarm arose in Harry as he thought of another boy and a bad incident but he spoke neutrally. “What did you do?” 

She looked around again before she leaned forward and whispered, “I stole a book from a woman once. She appeared out of thin air like me but she was older. The book had moving pictures on it.”

“What did you do with the book?”

“I tried to read it. I didn’t understand a lot of it but it told me magic is real and there are wizards and witches. So you shouldn’t lie to me. It makes me angry.” 

“What do you want me to do?”

Rose darted her gaze around them. “Please help me,” she begged, speaking so lowly that Harry had to lean in to hear. “I don’t want to be called crazy forever. My parents want to take me to a hospital, they think I am a special child.” She looked scared as her jaw trembled. “I don’t want injections.”

Harry sighed, unsure of what to do. She was clearly a witch but so underage that she hadn’t even received her Hogwarts letter. But she couldn’t be left alone now, her parents may be committing her to a mental asylum. An idea was beginning to strike him. “Alright,” he said slowly as he thought of it. “Hang on, why did you think I was a wizard?” 

Rose shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

Harry was horrified. “You’ve been going around doing this to everyone you come across?” No wonder her parents wanted her committed, he thought. 

Rose stuck out her tongue, reminding Harry of how young she actually was. “How will I know then?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “OK,” he said as Rose clapped her hands and danced around him. “I’ll help you but we’ll have to tell your parents something.”

“You can be my maths tutor. I’ll say you’re from my school.” 

Harry nodded as a couple who were clearly her parents were walking towards them, gazing warily at Rose as if she might do something to them. “I don’t know any maths but sure.” 

* * *

  
A few weeks later, Harry was at his home with Rose who was very mischievous. She nearly made Harry’s hair turn grey as she explored the entire house without any concern or care for her well-being. She had also nearly stepped into a lit fireplace, mistaking it as a Floo and was not fazed when Harry told her she nearly burned to death. He had hugged her then, she had grown on him like a younger sibling. She’d kicked his shin and loudly told him he was “embarrassing and emotional.”

“Is this a wise idea, Harry?” Hermione said yet again as she looked at Rose whose hair was in neat pigtails, an eager expression on her face as she sat primly on a chair at 12 Grimmauld Place. 

“Hermione, I thought about it.” His voice was low as he smiled at Rose who was delightfully playing with a snitch. “It is unfair. We both experienced these bouts of accidental magic and the Ministry didn’t tell us until later. It doesn’t make sense to wait until later, we have been magical since birth so why the secrecy? They should be preparing us for the wizarding world instead of blindly throwing us into it.”

Hermione nodded once. “I understand what you mean, Harry. More than anyone. But what are you planning to do?”

Harry crossed his arms. “I think if I can get the Ministry to agree that we need to better prepare muggle-born children for the magical world...I would want to guide them. Not like a teacher,” he added hastily. “But I was thinking of the unfair advantage everyone else has as compared to them when they start at Hogwarts. It's a whole new adjustment to everything.” 

“The currency, education, culture, sports, society,” Hermione muttered. “It is everything. So are you proposing an orientation for them? 

“Sort of. Like maybe before they begin Hogwarts and receive the letter, we could host them here and chat about their issues, explain things to them. Not teach magic, of course, but maybe it would help prevent children from going into asylums or facing bullies at their muggle schools. Show them what it's like to have floo networks and use broomsticks” 

Hermione gasped. “You’re so right. I was recently reading on how so rarely there’s a muggle-born in professional quidditch teams and I wondered if it’s blatant discrimination but what if it’s due to this? Us not having enough exposure to the world? I mean, even you had a broom toy as a child and could fly it.” 

He nodded as he saw Hermione’s eyes glaze over as she quickly thought of the various other ways this late introduction into the wizarding world put the children at a disadvantage in later stages. He could almost hear her prepare her arguments for the ministry. “I am glad you see it like that. So are you willing to take on a case for me?” 

She stared at him. “What?”

“I mean, this is something we’d have to get approved right,” he said, a smile creeping on his face. “And I heard you pacing the other day because you’re looking for a case.”

She stared for so long that his smile fell off his face. Doubt begin to flood his veins. “Never mind,” he said softly, turning back to Rose. 

Hermione threw her arms around him. “Oh, Harry. Of course. I mean, what is the point of all this equality and change if we also don’t include them?” 

Harry patted her hair which threatened to choke him as he nearly inhaled it, she smelled like apples and books. He wondered what her skin would taste like. If he tilted his head, he could just do that and know. 

“Is she your girlfriend?” Rose asked with interest, Hermione suddenly stepped away, her cheeks pink. 

“No.” Harry could only hope neither of them noticed the desperate longing and regret in his voice.

“I told you not to lie to me,” said Rose crossly, the snitch in her hand as she looked up at Hermione with wonder. Rose had instantly taken a liking to her while she spent most of her time making fun of Harry. “Do you like him?” 

Hermione looked cornered. “Um, I guess, I do.”

Rose made a face as she looked over at Harry and pretended to vomit. “Why?”

Hermione’s lips twitched as Harry tried to make sure his face was not on fire because it was feeling alarmingly warm. “Why, indeed.”

“Would you snog him?”

Harry coughed on his own spit, his eyes watering as he summoned a glass of water and drowned the contents which he regretted as he heard the next words: “I guess I would,” said Hermione thoughtfully. He spat out the water, coughing once again. 

Later after Rose had gone, Harry was pacing outside Hermione’s bedroom. He would apologise on behalf of Rose who had only been innocently asking questions. He stopped, shaking his head. The door opened and he fell in, nearly bringing Hermione down with him. 

“Hello to you too.” Her voice was amused and she seemed lighter than she had in weeks. Her parents were coming around and she had appeared to finally find her work-life balance. “I thought it was you at the door. What is it?”

“About what Rose said-”

“Oh. I didn’t want to do it then since she was there but she’s not here now.” With that, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. Harry stilled for a second before his hands found her waist, tugging her closer. He’d never realised how soft her lips were - how perfect they felt pressed against his. 

Harry kicked the door shut, Hermione tugging his wand out his pocket to lock it and dimming the lights while they kept kissing. He didn’t realise Hermione had been pulling him towards her bed until he fell into it, balancing on his elbows. Hermione’s hair was wilder and unrulier than ever, her breathing was hitched as she quickly climbed atop him, kissing him deeply. His hands gripped her thighs, caressing them through the soft material of her robes while she peppered kisses around his jaw. She abruptly vanished them, appearing in her regular attire of a soft shirt and trousers. 

“I’ve waited so long to do this,” he whispered before locking his mouth on her again, circling his arms around her back as he kneaded it with his hands. Hermione made a light noise in his mouth, gripping his jaw to kiss him at a deeper angle. Her hair fell around them like a waterfall. 

“You’re an idiot for waiting,” she retorted once he started kissing along her neck. She let out a sigh as he sucked a specific spot between her ear and temple. 

“Good thing we have you with enough brains for both of us,” panted Harry as she suddenly sat, her lower end meeting his. Her eyes widened as she felt how aroused he was and she tugged him upwards. He wrapped his arms around her once again and kissed her jaw while they both sighed when the change in position led to him rubbing directly against her. 

“Maybe we shoul-” Harry began, uncertainly withdrawing his arms. With a flick of her wand, his hands were tied to her bedposts. 

“Shut up,” she kissed him again while Harry strained against his restraints. The desire to touch her was overwhelming - it was not fair. She was touching him all over while he was struggling against the material she had cocooned his hands in. With a wandless non-verbal spell, he managed to undo her spell and snaked his hands around her waist, feeling the soft bare skin there as her shirt had ridden up. “Did you just undo my spell?”

“I can undo many things,” he replied as his hand crept up her back and undid her bra while his other hand rubbed it through the material of her shirt. She moaned slightly, arching into him. 

“I only put this on so you could take it off,” she rasped in his ear. 

“That day when I was here,” Hermione nodded so Harry went on, “I wanted to touch you all over and hear every noise you’d make.” 

“Do it then,” she said steadily and Harry pulled her on top of him, kissing her. 

* * *

A year later, Harry nodded as his, well, _students_ would be the most appropriate word but they weren’t technically, waved at him. Rose had already received her Hogwarts letter several months ago and had been sorted into Slytherin. 

She had been confused when she received a chocolate frog of him on the train and had told the fellow students in her compartment that she knew him. They had declared their jealousy right away as Rose had shrugged, bewildered. “Honestly, he’s a bit of a tosser really.”

Harry really liked his job even if it was not a proper one since he was his own boss. He spent time with young children who had no idea who he was and once he did tell them, did not seem to grasp the gravity of his role and treated him the same way they usually did. He’d spend his time, telling them about the wizarding world. Helping them figure out ways to adjust and not be as homesick or overcome with cultural shock. He often received letters from Hogwarts from some of them too, thanking him or relaying funny things the wizards and witches said or did. If a few of them asked, he also went to see them off at the start of their school year. 

He’d never expected it but he had extreme fun as he dealt with the funniest questions ever, conceptualised only by children who had no idea of the illogical wizarding world. “ _No electricity? How do air conditioners work at Hogwarts then? What about plumbing? Why can’t you fix your eyes with your magic? But I like maths, what do you mean I won’t have to do maths again? I don’t want to use quills, they are so messy. I want to take my pens! But owls take forever! Why can’t I email you from Hogwarts?_

The last one actually made a point. Harry was free to see the children over the weekend for a few hours (to account for their muggle school timings). They came with their parents who were separately oriented and did not need to necessarily come every day at the community centre that the Ministry had specifically built for the purpose after a very successful case presented by Hermione. The centre also included quills and parchment to practice writing, broomsticks to practice flying, robes to practice dressing and dummy wands to practice holding and moving. At the correct movements, the wands would emit golden sparks but that was the extent of the magic they produced. 

Harry’s most favourite occasion was flying with the children. While many refused to get on a thin stick, ( _this is so stupid, I can travel in an aeroplane instead of a_ broom), many were excited and whooped as they flew (only a few feet high in the beginning). They also did very basic quidditch matches - only fifty or eighty feet off the ground - so they could learn the sport. Some expressed such great enthusiasm, Harry was sure he’d see them as professional players one day. 

As the last of his students left, Harry tried to tame his hair before giving up. He apparated home, bumping into Ron who was on his way out, a large platter of cake boxes and assorted delicacies levitating behind him. Ron regularly supplied his creations to various wizarding restaurants and cafes across London. 

Seeing Harry, he rolled his eyes. “Please don’t forget the _silencio_ charm aga-”

Harry’s face turned red. “One time! It was one time and you were supposed to be away with Padma.” 

Ron only smirked, waggling his eyebrows. “Have fun,” he apparated with a slight pop. 

Harry hurried into Hermione’s - well, it was their room now. He quickly changed into his formal robes before flooing to the Ministry. He was supposed to meet Kingsley then hurry into a Wizengamot session to see Hermione’s latest case progress. 

“Potter,” Kingsley said curtly as he noticed the boy enter his chambers. “I assume you are here regarding our agreement for the Auror position.” 

Harry gave a sharp nod. 

“Well.” Kingsley looked uncomfortable as he stared at Harry. “I suppose you did meet your end of the bargain.”

“I no longer want it.”

For a second, Kingsley was surprised before he nodded. “Happy with the current routine?”

“Yes.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he said in a rush. “I realise it now that the Auror position would have left me for the worse. I feel happier. Better. Hell, even relaxed and stress-free.” He suddenly felt an influx of affection for the man who had looked out for him. If he hadn't been so stubborn, Harry would have never been in his life where he was now. 

Kingsley blinked. Harry looked different too, gone were the shadows on his face and the haunted look in his eyes. He appeared healthier, his face more filled out, his expression hopeful and happy. He no longer carried himself as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“Very well, then.” Kingsley smiled briefly, noting the boy glancing at his watch. “Ms Granger’s case ended early. I think she must be on her way out.” He’d barely finished before Harry had runoff. 

Harry raced through the levels of the Ministry instead of taking the slow lifts, employees pausing to stop and stare at him. He skidded to a stop in front of Hermione who watched with amusement from her place at the Floo line. 

“Still pining?” she inquired, hiking her bag up to her shoulder, her hair a mess as always. Harry tugged on a curl, as ever fascinated by it.

“Of course not. This is my “in love” face.” Harry mimicked the same expression Ron had shown him once. 

Hermione shuddered, entwining her fingers with his. “Never do that again.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. “Guess you are stuck with it.”

“I suppose I am,” she said, beaming as he kissed her forehead and cheeks before brushing his lips across her mouth. 


End file.
